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    A Bundle of Letters
    A Bundle of Letters
    A Bundle of Letters
    Ebook49 pages50 minutes

    A Bundle of Letters

    By Henry James

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    A Bundle of Letters is a comic short story by Henry James, originally published in The Parisian magazine in 1879, which is also when the story takes place. The story is one of James' few ventures into epistolary fiction. As he did so often, especially in the early stages of his career, James made the tale part of his international theme: his letter-writers represent a number of different countries. Although some of the characters look like well-worn stereotypes — the wolfish Frenchman, the pedantic and aggressively nationalistic German, the snobbish upper-class English siblings — James manages to endow most of them with enough twists and turns of personality to interest the reader. One character has even been taken as a sly satire on himself. (Wikipedia)
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOtbebookpublishing
    Release dateJan 13, 2019
    ISBN9783962729202
    A Bundle of Letters
    Author

    Henry James

    Henry James (1843-1916), the son of the religious philosopher Henry James Sr. and brother of the psychologist and philosopher William James, published many important novels including Daisy Miller, The Wings of the Dove, The Golden Bowl, and The Ambassadors.

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      Book preview

      A Bundle of Letters - Henry James

      James

      CHAPTER I

      FROM MISS MIRANDA MOPE, IN PARIS, TO MRS. ABRAHAM C. MOPE, AT BANGOR, MAINE.

      September 5th, 1879.

      My dear mother—I have kept you posted as far as Tuesday week last, and, although my letter will not have reached you yet, I will begin another before my news accumulates too much.  I am glad you show my letters round in the family, for I like them all to know what I am doing, and I can’t write to every one, though I try to answer all reasonable expectations.  But there are a great many unreasonable ones, as I suppose you know—not yours, dear mother, for I am bound to say that you never required of me more than was natural.  You see you are reaping your reward: I write to you before I write to any one else.

      There is one thing, I hope—that you don’t show any of my letters to William Platt.  If he wants to see any of my letters, he knows the right way to go to work.  I wouldn’t have him see one of these letters, written for circulation in the family, for anything in the world.  If he wants one for himself, he has got to write to me first.  Let him write to me first, and then I will see about answering him.  You can show him this if you like; but if you show him anything more, I will never write to you again.

      I told you in my last about my farewell to England, my crossing the Channel, and my first impressions of Paris.  I have thought a great deal about that lovely England since I left it, and all the famous historic scenes I visited; but I have come to the conclusion that it is not a country in which I should care to reside.  The position of woman does not seem to me at all satisfactory, and that is a point, you know, on which I feel very strongly.  It seems to me that in England they play a very faded-out part, and those with whom I conversed had a kind of depressed and humiliated tone; a little dull, tame look, as if they were used to being snubbed and bullied, which made me want to give them a good shaking.  There are a great many people—and a great many things, too—over here that I should like to perform that operation upon.  I should like to shake the starch out of some of them, and the dust out of the others.  I know fifty girls in Bangor that come much more up to my notion of the stand a truly noble woman should take, than those young ladies in England.  But they had a most lovely way of speaking (in England), and the men are remarkably handsome.  (You can show this to William Platt, if you like.)

      I gave you my first impressions of Paris, which quite came up to my expectations, much as I had heard and read about it.  The objects of interest are extremely numerous, and the climate is remarkably cheerful and sunny.  I should say the position of woman here was considerably higher, though by no means coming up to the American standard.  The manners of the people are in some respects extremely peculiar, and I feel at last that I am indeed in foreign parts.  It is, however, a truly elegant city (very superior to New York), and I have spent a great deal of time in visiting the various monuments and palaces.  I won’t give you an account of all my wanderings, though I have been most indefatigable; for I am keeping, as I told you before, a most exhaustive journal, which I will allow you the privilege of reading on my return to Bangor.  I am getting on remarkably well, and I must say I am sometimes surprised at my universal good fortune.  It only shows what a little energy and common-sense will accomplish.  I have discovered none of these objections to a young lady travelling in Europe by herself of which we heard so much before I left, and I don’t expect I ever shall,

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